


That Ultra Kind Of Love

by PlatinumAndPercocet



Series: Hallmark Holidays [2]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Series, Valentine's Day, Wiley and Remy will get more time soon I promise, aspen - Freeform, like so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 11:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13680678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlatinumAndPercocet/pseuds/PlatinumAndPercocet
Summary: A long-awaited trip and some amusing questions.Written for Be My (Peterick) Valentine 2018.





	That Ultra Kind Of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to this mess of fluff. I can almost promise that you will need to brush your teeth after; I feel like this is very possibly the most fairy-floss laden thing I have ever written. I am not sorry. I am, however, sorry for any errors; this hasn't been betaed because I am a fool and got so antsy. I also deleted well over half of this a few days ago because it felt forced and insincere and I can not have that, so... this is what we have. 
> 
> This was written for the Peterick Creations Challenge 2018 Valentine's day edition and I could not be more pleased to be involved with such an amazing, supportive and lovely group of writers and artists. Seriously, SnitchesAndTalkers and Flames_And_Jade are just genius and I am eternally grateful to be allowed to play in their sandbox. 
> 
> Make sure you check out all of the other entries and don't forget the comments and kudos, they make the world go round. 
> 
> It may be helpful to read the first part of this tale to understand this installment, but you don't have to if you don't want to, I'm just saying it could help. 
> 
> Thank you to all of the amazing folks in my happy little Birb Pack, you know who you are and I love you. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, Y'all. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction: 'Last Of The Real Ones' by Fall Out Boy because I am cheesy, okay? I'm not sorry.

Despite it being a rather important part of his job, Patrick did NOT like traveling; touring was one thing, there was a bus and someone else in charge of everything and he could just focus on Wiley and enjoy himself while preparing for the next show. Personal travel was another beast entirely and he was, not for the first time today, thankful for his occasional boringness as he and a sleepy near six-year-old made their way through LAX at an insane hour. Sure, there were paparazzi, it was LA, that came with the territory, but there were also far, far more interesting people flying in and out with their entourages. 

He had watched them even, sitting close beside Wiley and watching groups of people, far too well dressed to be sitting in a tin can filled with recycled air for however long, weave through the usual airport crowds, some posing for pictures and autographs, others brushing by the obviously star-struck and sleepy travelers like they were nothing. That level of disconnect was something Patrick could never understand; he was famous, in a sense; people bought his music and he would always chat with fans after shows, he had even shown up on a few red carpets, Wiley in tow, but aside from his brief disappearance two Christmases ago now, he wasn’t exactly tabloid fodder and he was always thankful for that. 

The few fans that did come up to him in public, be it in LA or Chicago, were always polite and courteous and, thankfully, never bothered him when Wiley was around. There were some very definitive lines that would not be crossed. Yeah, Patrick was a nerdy little dude and highly unassuming in his fedora and scarf, but god help anyone who fucked with his child. Wiley was, without a doubt, the most important thing in the world to him and he would protect her with his life. 

The now little girl currently did not care in the slightest about anything other than her orange juice and tablet, her earbuds shoved tightly in place and eyes sleepy behind her glasses. Eager as she was for this trip, she was very much her father’s daughter and even the promise of seeing not only her best friend but her Nana and Grandpa AND her Pete weren’t enough to get her enthusiastic about the morning. Patrick was kind of proud, in the strangest of ways. She was dressed, at least, Purple leggings and a white sweater dress hidden under the soft knit blanket that she always clung to when she flew. The yarn was delicate, it had some fancy name that Patrick didn’t know, and if he closed his eyes, he could almost still see Sara rocking in the half-finished nursery, needles clicking away as she knitted. It was one of Wiley’s most prized possessions, and with good reason. It seemed only appropriate that the blanket, such a huge piece of Sara, be making the heavily delayed trip to Aspen with them. 

After that life-changing Christmas in Phoenix Pass, Patrick’s life had been turned upside down, in the very best of ways; he and Wiley STILL hadn’t made it to Aspen, between visits to see Pete and Remy at the Inn and the two coming to spend long, stolen weekends in LA, and even once in Chicago, and then with work, well… the time had just gotten away from him. When Grace had called and stated, in a way that was absolutely a demand, that Patrick and Wiley, as well as ‘your young man and his son’ come visit over Valentines day for a week or two, maybe staying to celebrate Wiley’s birthday on the 25th, Patrick couldn’t say no; it was weird mom-voodoo, even if Grace wasn’t actually his mom. 

Pete had been almost too eager to accept the invitation and Patrick had momentarily regretted giving the always grinning innkeeper Wiley’s grandmother’s number; the two were more alike than I think anyone wanted to admit. It had taken some sweet talking to convince Pete to leave his business, and his home, for a vacation, but promises of beautiful Aspen views and possibly a guarantee of some extra silk tucked away deep in the recesses of his suitcase; Patrick had absolutely zero shame. Surprisingly, the ploy worked and Pete had found coverage for his vacation. 

Pete, being in the same actual state as Grace and Henry, was driving, despite the scattered storms that had been forecast. Patrick was absolutely not. Yes, first class tickets may have been a bit excessive for a two hour flight, but Wiley slept and he was able to finish off some work while in the air so it was absolutely worth it, even with a cranky, half awake kid who was way too big to be carrying through the airport once they landed. He did it anyway, of course, because Patrick would give Wiley the moon if he could. Besides, she was small for her age and there was a nagging voice at the back of his head reminding him, as always, that these days wouldn’t last. 

There was a refreshing lack of cameras looking for a story at the Aspen airport and so, once they had stepped past the last security point, and were greeted with a pair that was MOST DEFINITELY NOT Grace and Henry. Wiley, suddenly awake as could be, shrieked happily and wriggled out of Patrick's arms, running to hug Remy who was equally as excited. Pete, for his part, leaned against a support pole, honey eyes hidden behind sunglasses, a puffy coat topping faded black jeans and the same battered boots he had been wearing the day they met. He looked utterly ridiculous and one-hundred percent like home as soon as he was wrapped in Pete’s arms. Everything melted away for that one moment; the bustle of the crowds, the glide of wheels over polished floors, the buzz of people talking and the constant, ridiculous overhead noises and it was just the two of them and the kids, which was exactly as it should be. 

Sadly, their stolen moment of airport bliss was to remain just that as two pleading voice piped up from beside them, equally disgusted and over their dads, smiles bright on small faces as both Wiley and Remy suddenly needed pancakes or they would die. There was no arguing with six-year-olds, and Patrick knew that breakfast was not a hill he wanted to die on. 

“You two are trouble. Come on, let’s get the bags and then we can find Nana Grace’s favorite cafe.” There was absolutely no hesitation in the delighted squeals as the pair of pint-sized six-year-olds gathered up what they could, zipping coats and tugging a Quokka -emblazoned suitcase alongside their fathers as they all headed for the luggage carousel and then out into the frigid, snowy Aspen air, only for Patrick to scoff at the car Pete was driving; it was Grace’s G-Wagon and goddamnit, Pete was in his element in the ridiculous vehicle, Patrick’s feigned annoyance tipping over into a barely hidden smile as his own voice came pouring from the speakers as the key was turned in the ignition and three of the four people in the car began singing along instantly. It was going to be a long two weeks. 

It turns out, vacation time was absolutely different than usual, standard time, especially in Aspen, in a fucking gorgeous house, with storms outside, good food, and the best company Patrick cold imagine, well… every day seemed to both drag out, all happy moments and ridiculous memories that would etch themselves in his mind forever, and move to fast all at once. He wanted to cram everything possible into the fifteen days that they had. 

 

Two days had vanished in both a blink and a slow pull and suddenly it was Valentine’s day, he and Pete’s first real one, seeing as they hadn’t been on speaking terms last year and Patrick was nervous like… really nervous. He rocked from foot to foot in front of the mirror in the ridiculous en-suite of their guest room and kept futzing with his tie, eventually just throwing it aside because the goddamn thing was obviously broken. The laughter that broke the air was warm and rich, melting over him like sweet caramel and somehow calming his frayed nerves. Pete, of course, looked amazing, as always, in head to toe black, golden skin and hints of ink peeking out from the wrists and neck of his shirt. 

“I promise you, Trick, that tie isn’t at fault.” Patrick frowned because what else could he do, and Pete’s deft fingers tied the crimson silk bow tie with a toothy grin before adjusting the black cotton collar and tweaking Patrick’s fedora to sit just so. “There. Handsome as ever. I’m not entirely sure I will be able to keep my hands off you at dinner. You don’t think…”

“No, Pete!” Patrick’s cheeks flushed at the implication, knowing full well how prominent Pete’s exhibitionist streak was. The last thing Patrick needed, although it pained him to say it, was to get arrested for indecent exposure; that was basically his greatest fear, to be honest, and possibly number one on Pete’s extensive bucket list. He received a blinding grin in exchange for his adamant refusal and a slightly too hard smack on his ass, that had him jumping, although just slightly; Pete was none the wiser as he draped an arm over Patrick’s shoulder and easily led them back to the bedroom, trading his ridiculous coat for sleek black leather that matched the one Patrick had procured on his third trip to Phoenix Pass. 

“You know that still looks better on you, but I like it most in a-” Pete’s words were nearly dripping with innuendo, his smile bright like sunshine despite his filthy words. It was all Patrick could do not to jump him then and there. 

“Finish that sentence, Wentz, and I swear to god, you can go to have dinner with Henry, Grace and the kids.” Turns out, the very thinly veiled threat of spending Valentine’s day at the lodge with family instead of alone with his boyfriend was more than enough to get Pete to snap his mouth closed and follow dutifully behind Patrick as they headed out into the crystal clear, cold night, clinging to each other as they navigated the slick sidewalks in gently falling snow towards the restaurant, Pete waxing poetic the entire time. 

Patrick felt blissfully fizzy and warm, as though he had been dropped into one of the several glasses of champagne that he had drank over the course of the evening. It must have just been the bubbles going to his head. Then again, Pete’s hands, strong and almost glowing against the crisp black of Patrick’s shirt and the lips on his neck as he sprawled on top of him on the ridiculously perfect bed may have had a little something to do with that, maybe. 

Jackets had been thrown absently as soon as they had gotten to the door of their room; shoes had followed, along with a crash from somewhere in the vicinity of one of the nightstands; he didn’t care, Grace would understand, or he would make something up, whichever. Right now the only thing he wanted in the entire world was Pete and, as luck would have it, that want was returned, at least if the throaty moan and far from inconspicuous cock pressed to Patrick’s hip were anything to go by. 

Despite his clumsy fingers, Patrick had somehow managed to get rid of Pete’s shirt and belt and was pawing at his waistband in the limited space between their bodies. It was not easy, and he couldn’t hide the cry of triumph as he finally was able to slide his hand into Pete’s pants, the stifled moan hot against his neck as Patrick wrapped his hand around the hot, smooth length of Pete’s dick. 

“That never fucking gets old, Baby.” The endearment was an infrequent one, usually only used during sex, but it still filled Patrick with something akin to glee; it was just his, something for him and Pete alone to share which made his heart swell in that way that only Pete could. 

“You are far too dressed. Off now .” Even tipsy, Pete was demanding and somehow summed up the willpower to pull away from Patrick and slide to the edge of the bed in order to shed the rest of his clothes. He was beautiful, always, but the silvery-blue moonlight splashing across toffee skin and blank ink just made Patrick want. He scrambled with his own clothes, tugging off shirts and belt, pulling off socks and pupping the button on his pants before laying back against the ridiculous pile of pillows at the head of the bed. Pete looked at him hungrily, that same gorgeous expression that he had come to love over the last fourteen months. 

“Patrick, your pants. I thought we were past this modesty thing. It kind of loses its charm when holy fuck.” Pete played with Patrick’s slacks as he spoke, pulling down zippers and slipping a hand under the heavy cotton, stopping abruptly when his fingers found soft silk instead of whatever it was that he was expecting. 

Everything went kind of fizzy after that, in that way that you can only get when you really, truly give yourself over to someone, heart, body, and soul. It wasn’t until afterward when they were tangled in a mess of limbs, cooling sweat and sticky lube drying against their skin, gasps gently slowing to calm breaths, silk panties, pretty glass toys and lube flung aside somewhere in the down covers that Patrick finally started to come back to himself. He was sore and sated, his body and throat aching on only the best of ways, while Pete, whispered against the top of his head, fingers carding through Patrick’s nearly shaggy hair, the gentle touch sending Patrick closer and closer to sleep, his voice gentle as a song. 

“Hey, Trick?” The words were barely audible through the ether of sleep that was rapidly settling over Patrick, but he managed to mumble against Pete’s shoulder, his lips sliding over the warm skin. 

“Hmmmmm?” It wasn’t much of a response but it was something. 

“Would you marry me?” Pete’s words were gentle, almost unsure, but there was hope behind them and Patrick smiled, nodding sleepily. 

“You know I will.” The whisper was genuine and almost automatic, and despite his exhaustion, Patrick had to smile, stretching to meet Pete’s lips in a sleepy, sweet kiss. “Ask again in the morning, okay? I promise I’ll still say yes.” That seemed to be enough for Pete and he nodded, whiskey eyes drifting closed with a quiet ‘I love you’ as they both fell asleep, the snow falling heavily outside of their window. His last thought as he fell asleep, gauzy and almost ethereal in that way that only exists in those seconds before sleep, was that this was perfect. And it was.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me at AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet on Tumblr, I promise I'm not scary.


End file.
